Memories

The strings of my heart- tied all over the world. They're tugged, pulled, yanked. Tugged to Hiawatha: to my fellow staff members, to campers, to more memories than words can express. They're pulled towards Hillsdale County, to Crossroads Farm, to late nights in the car, to my many family members there. The strings of my heart are yanked back to Pucallpa, Peru. Yanked to my Peruvian familia, to the orphans of Aldea Infantil San Juan, to the members of CEMY and Jovenes con Vision, to motocarro rides and meals at C'est si Bon.

It takes so little for a memory to come rushing back. A smell, a song, a taste, a Bible verse, a movie, even hearing spoken Spanish- can all bring back vivid, colorful, intense memories.
I smell smoke and dust and suddenly I'm walking the streets of Pucallpa with Ben, Craig, Azaky, Drake, Ian, Mel, or Kelly. "He Will Carry Me" comes on the radio and I'm back on stage, placing baby Moses in the river of arms doing that motion I still can't do.

We order Subway for dinner and I'm transported back to Reading. To those late nights in Subway, talking and laughing. To the rides home, listening to Yes FM. Singing at the top of our lungs- even though none of us are really singers.

Pastor Brad preaches on Psalm 139. I close my eyes, and I'm back at Hiawatha, surrounded by my closest friends. My arms are raised, tears squeeze through my closed eyes. Such a knowledge is too, wonderful for me/It is too high, for my feeble mind/Where can I go from your Spirit?/Where can I run from Your presence?/If I ascend to the heavens, You are there, You are there/You're rising up in the morning/In a dry and barren land/Leading me, holding me in Your hand/There You are/How wonderful to be where you are. I'm with God. I'm home.

Looking through movies on my computer, I see Son of Rambow. The memories rush back- arguing in the video store, skeptically agreeing after what seems like hours. Come on, don't you trust me? Aren't you always talking about how you trust me? Sitting in my grandparents' living room with two of my closest friends, laughing hysterically.

I can be walking through the mall when I hear somebody speaking Spanish. I strain to listen, hoping I can catch a few words. The language takes me back to my most recent trip to Peru, to the day when God put words in my mouth that I never knew I know. To those ten days of translation and communications. To realizing later that I had communicated full conversations- almost completely in a language I barely speak.

Grilled cheese and tomato soup takes me back in time to the camp dining room. Back to constantly "hitting the jackpot," to debates, arguments, and jokes. Back to laughing, getting mail, and thinking it would never end.

As we sing "He Keeps Me Singing," I picture myself standing between Rocky and Reuben on the platform. I'm one of maybe three staff members who know the song. There's a cheat board in the front row. I remember belting it out loudly, no doubt off-key, yet exuberantly joyful.

Work in Progress- more to come.